Temeraire/Hornblower Crossover: 1/3
With much trepidation, I present the fruits of my most recent writing spree...
Really, I think credit for its creation belongs as much to Cami as to me, 'cuz she was the one who helped me sort out ideas. And, she's done some illustrations, too! Seriously, I am so spoiled between cirtholien showering me with her beautiful sketches, and imbecamiel always being so willing to draw me whatever weird creatures I come up with (and make them look ten times more awesome and real than I could've imagined them as looking). I was faltering halfway through writing this when Cami's lovely sketches buoyed me up. :D
The Regal copper on the left is Briseis, Captain Pellew's dragon,
and, below, Argentian is dragon!Bush
(whose features I think translate startling well into a dragon's, something which I think Cami really captures), soon to be Horatio's dragon. :)
Aren't they gorgeous?
I really cannot say enough about the coloring
(which she did digitally, with her new Bamboo pad),
or for how subtly sweet and feminine she made Briseis look . <3
Just a few notes on the story... First, I am seriously annoyed with how some of the beginning narration from Horatio's POV turned out. I hate info dumping, and I think it always shows in my writing when I'm skimming over something for the purpose of touching upon Vital Stuff. But, being vital explanatory stuff, I had to include it. Blah. *pokes at it dubiously*
Also, I am quite certain my lack of sufficient knowledge of things Napoleonic is going to show, here. I put no effort into finding a particular point in the war during which to place this...which should work out okay, since at this point I'm just focusing on some dialog-heavy scenes (hopefully) growing the general crossover idea.
Yup. I pretty much stand accused of writing a PWP, full of shmoopy friendship fluff. But at least I'll admit it? :3
***
It was one of those turns of events that left you reeling, incapable of sorting your thoughts out in an organized fashion. Usually, Horatio prided himself on his ability to put his emotions in check and carry on.
But this was different. There weren't any guns firing, now; the men were in high spirits; the adrenaline of battle was spent, and it had purchased victory.
It had, in fact, purchased Horiato Hornblower a promotion.
Promotion. A captaincy. A dragon and crew of his own.
It was a pinnacle: the kind of thing every aviator dreamed of. But then why this confusion? He asked himself the question, clenching and unclenching his jaw as the answers came readily in the form of conversations overheard.
Already had a captain. Not a normal dragon. A dragon without that infamous fighting spark in him.
Oh, yes, Horatio knew why he'd been given a dragon who was whispered jokingly to be “the most boring middleweight dragon in all the Corps.” Of course, any man caught actually saying such things was frowned into silence, but the phrase made the rounds nonetheless.
And then there was his own reputation. Commissioned First Lieutenant, and now Captain, Horiatio Hornblower-most notable for his unconventional approach to solving problems. The less charitable simply called his tactics reckless bravado.
A more perfect match was never made, he thought to himself wryly. Doubtless there'd been some laughter over the supreme irony of it as the decision had been made. Indeed, he could hardly tell how much of the promotion was truly a promotion, and how much a none-too-subtle hint that he'd overstepped his bounds one too many times and was in need of reining in.
Whatever the reasoning behind the choice, he knew he was being ungrateful-and that was putting it lightly. He knew it, yet he couldn't help a few pangs of regret. He'd seen the acknowledgment of that disappointment in the eyes of Captain Pellew when his former captain had brought him the news. The look had been brief, and then Pellew had clapped him on the shoulder and handed him his commission, giving him an entirely different look, one that said “Make the most of it.” Being given a dragon wasn't like being given a ship. It was much, much more permanent than that-very likely a commission for life, even if the dragon was hardly a hatchling anymore. There might be disappointment, but there was also duty, and privilege.
Horatio knew he didn't need a hatchling, or some great dragon with tremendous fighting spirit. He only needed a willing dragon. That was all he could ask, and more than many received after a lifetime of service.
Besides that, for all the idle talk, he knew that Argentian-the dragon he was to captain-had a reputation for loyalty. Generous commentators had called him a “very British dragon.”
In any case, he refused to allow any more disparaging thoughts admittance. After all, he hadn't even met Argentian yet. Certainly, the dragon's record seemed to speak for itself: his former captain highly decorated, and an impressive number of battles to both their credit.
All of this was what Horatio had been reminding himself of throughout a restless night and into a restless morning. Breakfast, he would have just as soon forgone.
“Eat, Captain,” a freshly-promoted First Lieutenant Kennedy had advised him, “it will give your nerves some time to settle. If,” he added with belated formality, a smile twitching at his lips, “I may be so bold, Sir.”
“No,” Horatio had returned with a weak smile, “you may not be so bold, Mister Kennedy. My nerves are fine, thank you.”
“Positively thriving, Sir,” Kennedy had concurred agreeably, leaving Horatio to the duty of stuffing food down an unwilling throat into a tight stomach.
Part of himself, he realized, was afraid Argentian would be able to see through any politeness and read every doubtful thought he'd been brooding over for the last few days. Which was ridiculous. They'd get on just-
“Sir, if you please,” said Matthews, sticking his head in through the doorway, “Mister Kennedy sends his compliments and says to tell you Argentian has arrived and is waiting on your convenience.”
“Matthews,” Horatio spoke quickly to stop him before he could leave, “how did...that is...” he stammered uncharacteristically, and the heat of embarrassment crept up his neck.
Matthews had mercy. “He seems a fine dragon, Sir.”
“Yes?”
“Yes Sir. Very fine.”
Horatio wasn't sure why, but the words gave him an immediate rush of pride, as if he'd never really doubted it himself.
“Thank you, Matthews, I'll be right along.”
But instead, he sat staring at his full plate for nearly five minutes before shaking himself and standing.
Ridiculous. A captain avoiding meeting his own dragon? He'd been working alongside dragons since he was eight years old, aspiring all the while to be in this very position.
He strode toward the door, cataloging his appearance as he made his way to the clearings even though he knew every article of his clothing was as polished, ironed, and washed as possible. He'd done it all last night while he'd been busy not sleeping.
The dragon was seated on its haunches, head lowered and turned toward Kennedy, who stood nearby. It afforded Horatio a moment to observe without being observed.
Argentian was larger than he'd imagined. Middleweight class, but not on the small side. From what he could see, the dragon was primarily a slate gray, interrupted by a tan underbelly and a disorganized splash of black markings on the forepaws. Horito had never heard a specific breed mentioned in reference to Argentian, and now he found he couldn't begin to guess at his heritage.
As he approached, Argentian turned his head, providing Horatio the full view of his face. There were sharper, cleaner black markings around his muzzle, a blade of the color running upwards between his eyes, like the lower half of an incomplete mask. The dragon's ruff went up slightly as he caught sight of Horiatio, examining him levelly.
Now that this moment of unprecedented importance had come, the words to greet it-to greet his dragon-deserted him. Instead, he found standing there, unable to break the dragon's gaze, and feeling transparent, and strangely insignificant, as he'd never felt in front of a dragon, even those much larger in size than Argentian.
“Captain,” Kennedy intervened in a cheerful tone, “this is Argentian, formerly under Captain Windamere. Argentian, this is-”
“-My Captain.”
Horatio felt at once as if he'd been shaken out of his stupor, and at the same as if that shake had been the feel of the ground being pulled out from underneath him. The dragon made the two words sound like an oath he was swearing-some solemn pledge of honor, now irreversible, entered into on both their parts. It was a bestowal. It was a trust.
It made his situation, as captain of this magnificent creature, suddenly very tangible.
“I am delighted to meet you at last, Argentian,” he said quietly to the face now lowered on a level with his own.
And he found that he was.
***
Without any orders-save for a smiling suggestion from the admiral who had charge of this covert to “spend the day becoming better acquainted with your dragon”-Horatio had been briefly at a loss to know how the day might be passed.
Argentien, however, did not seem to share his awkwardness. After Kennedy had left, saluting with an “I'll leave you to it, then, Sir,” and a bow for Argentian, the dragon and returned his attention to Horatio.
He asked quietly (or, at least. in a reverberating, dragon-rumble version of quietly): “Would you care to go aloft, Captain?”
Horiatio noticed, then, that Argentian was rigged out in light harness. “Yes,” he said, perhaps a trifle over-eagerly. Clearing his throat, he added with more dignity, “Yes, thank you, I would.”
“Let me test it for you, then, Captain.”
The dragon stirred and spread his wings as he said this, and raising a gust that blew at Horiato's hair and long aviator's jacket, shook himself to test the fit and sturdiness of the harness with a few expert movements. Feet once more firmly on the ground, he reported: “All lies well,” and crouched low to allow Horatio to board.
In flight, with a steady wind snatching words away, and forcing Horatio-if not the powerfully-voiced Argentian-to half shout, all conversation was carried about with lapses of silence in between. They were not awkward silences, however, and even when they'd landed back in the clearing there was a sense of more to be said hanging between them that made the necessary break in dialog companionable.
It was not quite noon, and Horatio was hardly hungry himself, but he realized Argentian might be after flying the better part of the morning, and inquired if he should like to eat.
Argentian gave a rumble of consideration, but shook his head. “I do not require anything yet, Captain. However, if you are hungry, our further acquaintance can wait until you have...”
“No-no, I am not hungry yet, either.” Then it struck him that perhaps the dragon was asking for some privacy, and he added hastily, “Of course, if you wish for some time to yourself...” He trailed off, uncertainly.
“Captain,” Argentian said, and Horatio was versed enough in the subtleties of dragon mannerisms to recognize the slight smile in his tone, “my time is entirely at your disposal.”
“Then...perhaps we might sit over there atop that hillock?”
They did so, and Horatio was aware of the irony of his contentment in the midst of a situation that the mere notion of would have caused him no small amount of trepidation but a few hours ago.
Horatio sat, knees drawn up, looking off at the distant skyline of London, and Argentian reclined in a sphinx-like pose beside him, tail neatly coiled. Everything about the dragon seemed fastidious, from the way he arranged himself, to the way he conducted himself in conversation. It was somewhat bemusing. He was more accustomed to dragons who entered into everything with gusto.
It all threw him a bit off balance. He did hate to appear to condescend to any dragon, and Argentian was one of the most dignified dragons he'd ever met.
“Sir, is something amiss?”
Horatio started from his thoughts abruptly. “What?” The question registered, then. “Ah...no. Not at all.”
“Forgive me, but you seem...troubled.”
“Perhaps I am just a bit preoccupied.”
“Are there any questions you would like to ask me? I am sure this commission is an adjustment for you.”
Horatio had never, ever heard a dragon refer to himself as a “commission,” and for a moment he could only stare blankly.
“Adjustment?” he finally stammered. “Well, of course, any promotion is an adjustment, but the adjustments needed to settle into a captaincy are the kind an aviator would welcome.”
“That is...not quite what I meant.” Argentian seemed to hesitate a moment. “I am quite aware I am not a prime commission. Some,” he added humorously, “might even call me boring.”
“Argentian-
”No, please, Sir. I can see the humor in it. I am no hatchling, such as a new captain would regularly hope for, nor perhaps... full of quite so eager a longing for adventure as many another dragon.”
Argentian did not seem embarrassed by the fact. If anything, he was sympathetic. None of which eased Horatio's mortified conscience, for he could not deny these had been some of his very thoughts.
He realized that Argentian was still speaking, still matter-of-fact.
“Though I have it on good authority that both of my parents served in the Corps, and honorably, I am not at all the...result expected from their union. For, you see, my mother was Flamme-de-Glore, and it was hoped I would have her ability to breathe fire. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and, as you can see, I am not in any other way particularly distinguished. Even my coloring may be deemed somewhat unfortunate, for I cannot but be mistaken for a...mixed dragon, and I have had it pointed out that I look rather-'accidental,' was the word, I believe. But I assure you, though I may appear too lightly colored for it in the daylight-I am perfectly suited to covert operations, and can camouflage nicely with the dark.”
Horatio felt the blood rush to his face, now not with embarrassment but with unexpected anger. “An 'accidental' appearance?” he repeated, appalled. “Someone said this openly to you?”
Argentian, who had been staring into the distance, turned to look at him with an expression almost quizzical in the way he narrowed his eyes. “Yes. My former Captain responded much the same. He said it was very rude of the dragon to say so, and became uncharacteristically out of countenance because of it, raging about for several minutes.” Argentian shook his head, in memory or puzzlement. “But I think the Winchester was only very young and outspoken, and did not mean it at all badly.”
Horatio was temporarily lost for words, and Argentian added graciously, ”Do not feel compelled say anything, Captain. I have perhaps elaborated too much. I do not subscribe to self-pity; I only wished to make it clear that I am aware of my own shortcomings and I-”
“-Argentian, please. I do have something I would like to say. It is true that some dragons are born particularly fortunate. The same can be said for men. I do not know that I am the most deserving man in the Corps for this commission-the most deserving of a dragon of your experience. I have precious little wealth to my name, and comparatively little experience or prestige.” Argentian looked ready to object and Horatio held up a hand to stop him. “But, I do know that any aviator worthy of the name could only be proud to be the captain of a dragon as dedicated to the Corps as yourself.” Horatio paused to find the right words. Now that he was speaking, he felt at once as if he were talking too much, and saying too little of what he really meant. “I...” He stopped again, clearing his throat. “Many dragons do not take a second captain at all. If you had chosen not to, you would have earned the right to retire. I am grateful for the opportunity to serve with you, Argentian.”
Argentian let out a long, soft sigh that ruffled a patch of long grass a few feet off. When he spoke, it was with a sense of politely repressed sorrow-which ached tiredly in the timbre of his voice, nonetheless. “I thank you, Captain. I am equally honored. However, I fear you compliment me beyond what I deserve. In truth, your praise should belong to Captain Windamere, and his dedication to the Corps. My dedication...” Another soft sigh. “It pales in comparison to what his was. I might very well have shirked my duty, in favor of my own feelings, were it not for the promise I made Captain Windamere many years ago. It was not long after I had reached my full growth, in fact. After a close encounter, in which we were boarded and he nearly killed, he made me swear to him that if he died I would not waste my life in the breeding grounds. As long as I am capable of fighting for my country I will fight for her, and for the memory of my first captain.”
Horatio was silent for a while, then, feeling as if there were no reply adequate. Argentian had kept a quietly dignified tone throughout; yet, Horatio felt as if he'd been once more bestowed with trust he hadn't earned. It was as if he owed Argentian an equally intimate glimpse into his own past. At the same time, he felt the weight of the irreparable loss the dragon had suffered, one which no act of his own could compensate for. He would never be the same to Argentian as his first captain, and he did not wish to show the irreverence of trying to be.
He also had the awkward sensation that Argentian felt it was his duty to recount anything Horiato asked-as if he were making a report to a superior officer.
“Argentian,” he began hesitantly, “do not feel that you must tell me anything that you would prefer not to.”
“Oh, but Captain,” Argentian said, sounding younger, with more dragon-like spontaneity, such as Horatio was accustomed to, “I want you to feel very welcome as my captain.”
Horatio smiled. He'd witnessed so many signs of casual affection pass between Pellew and his dragon, Briseis, that somehow the sensation that washed over him was as if he'd already experienced it himself, vicariously, many times before. “My dear...” He paused, surprised a little at the automatic choice in words: a term also familiar to him from hearing it spoken between other captains and their dragons, but rather startling to discover on his own tongue.
“My dear,” he repeated, finding the term wasn't as foreign as it should have been, “I already do.”
Argentian lowered his head in an unexpectedly shy manner, as if to hide his expression, and gave a low rumble that Horatio liked to think sounded pleased.
***
Though he had only been inactive one day, Horatio woke-his second morning as a captain-with the intense need to do something.
Admiral Hirst only toyed with him briefly when Horatio came to report, drawling: “Are you sure you wouldn't like another day, Captain? You can be spared one more, I think...”
“No-Sir.” Horatio tried not to let his impatience show. “That is, I believe Argentian is as eager to resume activity as I.”
Argentian was. He greeted the news-orders to join Pellew's formation in training exercises-with a bright, “Very good, Sir.” The eager, cat-like twitch of the tip of Argentian's tail was not lost on Horatio.
“Glad you could join us,” was Pellew's simple greeting, but there was a smile in his eyes as he added, stressing the word meaningfully, “Captain.”
Pellew's dragon, Briseis, was a Regal Copper. Horatio knew her well, from his service with Pellew, and the dragon greeted him in her bright and cheerful voice. An odd match, some might think it: a crusty veteran like Pellew, and the sweet-natured, if behemoth, Briseis. Horatio, however, who had long ago seen the perfect harmony between the two, knew better. More than one green recruit had tried to hide an expression of surprise when Pellew turned from barking orders at his men to give his “Brise” a fond stroke or pat, along with a gruff word of praise.
“Ah!” Briseis said, addressing Argentian. “You are very fortunate to have gotten Horatio. You know, he was my first lieutenant before he was your captain.” Horatio recognized it for Briseis' familiar half-serious, half-teasing way.
Argentian, however, did not seem to know entirely how he should reply, and answered uncertainly, and with seriousness that contrasted with the Regal Copper's cheerfulness: “Ah... Yes. I am sorry about that.” He amended quickly, and would have surely blushed if a dragon could, “Not that I am sorry he is now my captain, of course...” As he finished, Argentian gave a subtle rear of his head, not unlike a proud stallion, and Horatio shared a look with Pellew who was observing the dragons' exchange with eyebrows raised.
“Come, now, you two'll have to finish squabbling over poor Captain Hornblower later,” Pellew interrupted in his leniently stern tone.
“I was not squabbling,” Briseis interjected. “And I am pleased to meet you Argentian. And I am glad you've been made captain, Horatio. Even if I shan't have you anymore.” With perhaps a little more seriousness than teasing, she added to Argentian, “But you had better make sure you take care of him.”
“I...will,” Argentian promised, as her and Pellew left. “A Regal Copper,” he said, half to himself. “A very impressive dragon. You must have been proud to be her first lieutenant.”
“Mmm,” Horatio agreed. “But she was not my dragon.”
***
And now I have killer headache, from formatting this, on top of nerves. :3 I'll just go make dinner now...
Index:
Chapter 2
Really, I think credit for its creation belongs as much to Cami as to me, 'cuz she was the one who helped me sort out ideas. And, she's done some illustrations, too! Seriously, I am so spoiled between cirtholien showering me with her beautiful sketches, and imbecamiel always being so willing to draw me whatever weird creatures I come up with (and make them look ten times more awesome and real than I could've imagined them as looking). I was faltering halfway through writing this when Cami's lovely sketches buoyed me up. :D
The Regal copper on the left is Briseis, Captain Pellew's dragon,
and, below, Argentian is dragon!Bush
(whose features I think translate startling well into a dragon's, something which I think Cami really captures), soon to be Horatio's dragon. :)
Aren't they gorgeous?
I really cannot say enough about the coloring
(which she did digitally, with her new Bamboo pad),
or for how subtly sweet and feminine she made Briseis look . <3
Just a few notes on the story... First, I am seriously annoyed with how some of the beginning narration from Horatio's POV turned out. I hate info dumping, and I think it always shows in my writing when I'm skimming over something for the purpose of touching upon Vital Stuff. But, being vital explanatory stuff, I had to include it. Blah. *pokes at it dubiously*
Also, I am quite certain my lack of sufficient knowledge of things Napoleonic is going to show, here. I put no effort into finding a particular point in the war during which to place this...which should work out okay, since at this point I'm just focusing on some dialog-heavy scenes (hopefully) growing the general crossover idea.
Yup. I pretty much stand accused of writing a PWP, full of shmoopy friendship fluff. But at least I'll admit it? :3
***
It was one of those turns of events that left you reeling, incapable of sorting your thoughts out in an organized fashion. Usually, Horatio prided himself on his ability to put his emotions in check and carry on.
But this was different. There weren't any guns firing, now; the men were in high spirits; the adrenaline of battle was spent, and it had purchased victory.
It had, in fact, purchased Horiato Hornblower a promotion.
Promotion. A captaincy. A dragon and crew of his own.
It was a pinnacle: the kind of thing every aviator dreamed of. But then why this confusion? He asked himself the question, clenching and unclenching his jaw as the answers came readily in the form of conversations overheard.
Already had a captain. Not a normal dragon. A dragon without that infamous fighting spark in him.
Oh, yes, Horatio knew why he'd been given a dragon who was whispered jokingly to be “the most boring middleweight dragon in all the Corps.” Of course, any man caught actually saying such things was frowned into silence, but the phrase made the rounds nonetheless.
And then there was his own reputation. Commissioned First Lieutenant, and now Captain, Horiatio Hornblower-most notable for his unconventional approach to solving problems. The less charitable simply called his tactics reckless bravado.
A more perfect match was never made, he thought to himself wryly. Doubtless there'd been some laughter over the supreme irony of it as the decision had been made. Indeed, he could hardly tell how much of the promotion was truly a promotion, and how much a none-too-subtle hint that he'd overstepped his bounds one too many times and was in need of reining in.
Whatever the reasoning behind the choice, he knew he was being ungrateful-and that was putting it lightly. He knew it, yet he couldn't help a few pangs of regret. He'd seen the acknowledgment of that disappointment in the eyes of Captain Pellew when his former captain had brought him the news. The look had been brief, and then Pellew had clapped him on the shoulder and handed him his commission, giving him an entirely different look, one that said “Make the most of it.” Being given a dragon wasn't like being given a ship. It was much, much more permanent than that-very likely a commission for life, even if the dragon was hardly a hatchling anymore. There might be disappointment, but there was also duty, and privilege.
Horatio knew he didn't need a hatchling, or some great dragon with tremendous fighting spirit. He only needed a willing dragon. That was all he could ask, and more than many received after a lifetime of service.
Besides that, for all the idle talk, he knew that Argentian-the dragon he was to captain-had a reputation for loyalty. Generous commentators had called him a “very British dragon.”
In any case, he refused to allow any more disparaging thoughts admittance. After all, he hadn't even met Argentian yet. Certainly, the dragon's record seemed to speak for itself: his former captain highly decorated, and an impressive number of battles to both their credit.
All of this was what Horatio had been reminding himself of throughout a restless night and into a restless morning. Breakfast, he would have just as soon forgone.
“Eat, Captain,” a freshly-promoted First Lieutenant Kennedy had advised him, “it will give your nerves some time to settle. If,” he added with belated formality, a smile twitching at his lips, “I may be so bold, Sir.”
“No,” Horatio had returned with a weak smile, “you may not be so bold, Mister Kennedy. My nerves are fine, thank you.”
“Positively thriving, Sir,” Kennedy had concurred agreeably, leaving Horatio to the duty of stuffing food down an unwilling throat into a tight stomach.
Part of himself, he realized, was afraid Argentian would be able to see through any politeness and read every doubtful thought he'd been brooding over for the last few days. Which was ridiculous. They'd get on just-
“Sir, if you please,” said Matthews, sticking his head in through the doorway, “Mister Kennedy sends his compliments and says to tell you Argentian has arrived and is waiting on your convenience.”
“Matthews,” Horatio spoke quickly to stop him before he could leave, “how did...that is...” he stammered uncharacteristically, and the heat of embarrassment crept up his neck.
Matthews had mercy. “He seems a fine dragon, Sir.”
“Yes?”
“Yes Sir. Very fine.”
Horatio wasn't sure why, but the words gave him an immediate rush of pride, as if he'd never really doubted it himself.
“Thank you, Matthews, I'll be right along.”
But instead, he sat staring at his full plate for nearly five minutes before shaking himself and standing.
Ridiculous. A captain avoiding meeting his own dragon? He'd been working alongside dragons since he was eight years old, aspiring all the while to be in this very position.
He strode toward the door, cataloging his appearance as he made his way to the clearings even though he knew every article of his clothing was as polished, ironed, and washed as possible. He'd done it all last night while he'd been busy not sleeping.
The dragon was seated on its haunches, head lowered and turned toward Kennedy, who stood nearby. It afforded Horatio a moment to observe without being observed.
Argentian was larger than he'd imagined. Middleweight class, but not on the small side. From what he could see, the dragon was primarily a slate gray, interrupted by a tan underbelly and a disorganized splash of black markings on the forepaws. Horito had never heard a specific breed mentioned in reference to Argentian, and now he found he couldn't begin to guess at his heritage.
As he approached, Argentian turned his head, providing Horatio the full view of his face. There were sharper, cleaner black markings around his muzzle, a blade of the color running upwards between his eyes, like the lower half of an incomplete mask. The dragon's ruff went up slightly as he caught sight of Horiatio, examining him levelly.
Now that this moment of unprecedented importance had come, the words to greet it-to greet his dragon-deserted him. Instead, he found standing there, unable to break the dragon's gaze, and feeling transparent, and strangely insignificant, as he'd never felt in front of a dragon, even those much larger in size than Argentian.
“Captain,” Kennedy intervened in a cheerful tone, “this is Argentian, formerly under Captain Windamere. Argentian, this is-”
“-My Captain.”
Horatio felt at once as if he'd been shaken out of his stupor, and at the same as if that shake had been the feel of the ground being pulled out from underneath him. The dragon made the two words sound like an oath he was swearing-some solemn pledge of honor, now irreversible, entered into on both their parts. It was a bestowal. It was a trust.
It made his situation, as captain of this magnificent creature, suddenly very tangible.
“I am delighted to meet you at last, Argentian,” he said quietly to the face now lowered on a level with his own.
And he found that he was.
***
Without any orders-save for a smiling suggestion from the admiral who had charge of this covert to “spend the day becoming better acquainted with your dragon”-Horatio had been briefly at a loss to know how the day might be passed.
Argentien, however, did not seem to share his awkwardness. After Kennedy had left, saluting with an “I'll leave you to it, then, Sir,” and a bow for Argentian, the dragon and returned his attention to Horatio.
He asked quietly (or, at least. in a reverberating, dragon-rumble version of quietly): “Would you care to go aloft, Captain?”
Horiatio noticed, then, that Argentian was rigged out in light harness. “Yes,” he said, perhaps a trifle over-eagerly. Clearing his throat, he added with more dignity, “Yes, thank you, I would.”
“Let me test it for you, then, Captain.”
The dragon stirred and spread his wings as he said this, and raising a gust that blew at Horiato's hair and long aviator's jacket, shook himself to test the fit and sturdiness of the harness with a few expert movements. Feet once more firmly on the ground, he reported: “All lies well,” and crouched low to allow Horatio to board.
In flight, with a steady wind snatching words away, and forcing Horatio-if not the powerfully-voiced Argentian-to half shout, all conversation was carried about with lapses of silence in between. They were not awkward silences, however, and even when they'd landed back in the clearing there was a sense of more to be said hanging between them that made the necessary break in dialog companionable.
It was not quite noon, and Horatio was hardly hungry himself, but he realized Argentian might be after flying the better part of the morning, and inquired if he should like to eat.
Argentian gave a rumble of consideration, but shook his head. “I do not require anything yet, Captain. However, if you are hungry, our further acquaintance can wait until you have...”
“No-no, I am not hungry yet, either.” Then it struck him that perhaps the dragon was asking for some privacy, and he added hastily, “Of course, if you wish for some time to yourself...” He trailed off, uncertainly.
“Captain,” Argentian said, and Horatio was versed enough in the subtleties of dragon mannerisms to recognize the slight smile in his tone, “my time is entirely at your disposal.”
“Then...perhaps we might sit over there atop that hillock?”
They did so, and Horatio was aware of the irony of his contentment in the midst of a situation that the mere notion of would have caused him no small amount of trepidation but a few hours ago.
Horatio sat, knees drawn up, looking off at the distant skyline of London, and Argentian reclined in a sphinx-like pose beside him, tail neatly coiled. Everything about the dragon seemed fastidious, from the way he arranged himself, to the way he conducted himself in conversation. It was somewhat bemusing. He was more accustomed to dragons who entered into everything with gusto.
It all threw him a bit off balance. He did hate to appear to condescend to any dragon, and Argentian was one of the most dignified dragons he'd ever met.
“Sir, is something amiss?”
Horatio started from his thoughts abruptly. “What?” The question registered, then. “Ah...no. Not at all.”
“Forgive me, but you seem...troubled.”
“Perhaps I am just a bit preoccupied.”
“Are there any questions you would like to ask me? I am sure this commission is an adjustment for you.”
Horatio had never, ever heard a dragon refer to himself as a “commission,” and for a moment he could only stare blankly.
“Adjustment?” he finally stammered. “Well, of course, any promotion is an adjustment, but the adjustments needed to settle into a captaincy are the kind an aviator would welcome.”
“That is...not quite what I meant.” Argentian seemed to hesitate a moment. “I am quite aware I am not a prime commission. Some,” he added humorously, “might even call me boring.”
“Argentian-
”No, please, Sir. I can see the humor in it. I am no hatchling, such as a new captain would regularly hope for, nor perhaps... full of quite so eager a longing for adventure as many another dragon.”
Argentian did not seem embarrassed by the fact. If anything, he was sympathetic. None of which eased Horatio's mortified conscience, for he could not deny these had been some of his very thoughts.
He realized that Argentian was still speaking, still matter-of-fact.
“Though I have it on good authority that both of my parents served in the Corps, and honorably, I am not at all the...result expected from their union. For, you see, my mother was Flamme-de-Glore, and it was hoped I would have her ability to breathe fire. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and, as you can see, I am not in any other way particularly distinguished. Even my coloring may be deemed somewhat unfortunate, for I cannot but be mistaken for a...mixed dragon, and I have had it pointed out that I look rather-'accidental,' was the word, I believe. But I assure you, though I may appear too lightly colored for it in the daylight-I am perfectly suited to covert operations, and can camouflage nicely with the dark.”
Horatio felt the blood rush to his face, now not with embarrassment but with unexpected anger. “An 'accidental' appearance?” he repeated, appalled. “Someone said this openly to you?”
Argentian, who had been staring into the distance, turned to look at him with an expression almost quizzical in the way he narrowed his eyes. “Yes. My former Captain responded much the same. He said it was very rude of the dragon to say so, and became uncharacteristically out of countenance because of it, raging about for several minutes.” Argentian shook his head, in memory or puzzlement. “But I think the Winchester was only very young and outspoken, and did not mean it at all badly.”
Horatio was temporarily lost for words, and Argentian added graciously, ”Do not feel compelled say anything, Captain. I have perhaps elaborated too much. I do not subscribe to self-pity; I only wished to make it clear that I am aware of my own shortcomings and I-”
“-Argentian, please. I do have something I would like to say. It is true that some dragons are born particularly fortunate. The same can be said for men. I do not know that I am the most deserving man in the Corps for this commission-the most deserving of a dragon of your experience. I have precious little wealth to my name, and comparatively little experience or prestige.” Argentian looked ready to object and Horatio held up a hand to stop him. “But, I do know that any aviator worthy of the name could only be proud to be the captain of a dragon as dedicated to the Corps as yourself.” Horatio paused to find the right words. Now that he was speaking, he felt at once as if he were talking too much, and saying too little of what he really meant. “I...” He stopped again, clearing his throat. “Many dragons do not take a second captain at all. If you had chosen not to, you would have earned the right to retire. I am grateful for the opportunity to serve with you, Argentian.”
Argentian let out a long, soft sigh that ruffled a patch of long grass a few feet off. When he spoke, it was with a sense of politely repressed sorrow-which ached tiredly in the timbre of his voice, nonetheless. “I thank you, Captain. I am equally honored. However, I fear you compliment me beyond what I deserve. In truth, your praise should belong to Captain Windamere, and his dedication to the Corps. My dedication...” Another soft sigh. “It pales in comparison to what his was. I might very well have shirked my duty, in favor of my own feelings, were it not for the promise I made Captain Windamere many years ago. It was not long after I had reached my full growth, in fact. After a close encounter, in which we were boarded and he nearly killed, he made me swear to him that if he died I would not waste my life in the breeding grounds. As long as I am capable of fighting for my country I will fight for her, and for the memory of my first captain.”
Horatio was silent for a while, then, feeling as if there were no reply adequate. Argentian had kept a quietly dignified tone throughout; yet, Horatio felt as if he'd been once more bestowed with trust he hadn't earned. It was as if he owed Argentian an equally intimate glimpse into his own past. At the same time, he felt the weight of the irreparable loss the dragon had suffered, one which no act of his own could compensate for. He would never be the same to Argentian as his first captain, and he did not wish to show the irreverence of trying to be.
He also had the awkward sensation that Argentian felt it was his duty to recount anything Horiato asked-as if he were making a report to a superior officer.
“Argentian,” he began hesitantly, “do not feel that you must tell me anything that you would prefer not to.”
“Oh, but Captain,” Argentian said, sounding younger, with more dragon-like spontaneity, such as Horatio was accustomed to, “I want you to feel very welcome as my captain.”
Horatio smiled. He'd witnessed so many signs of casual affection pass between Pellew and his dragon, Briseis, that somehow the sensation that washed over him was as if he'd already experienced it himself, vicariously, many times before. “My dear...” He paused, surprised a little at the automatic choice in words: a term also familiar to him from hearing it spoken between other captains and their dragons, but rather startling to discover on his own tongue.
“My dear,” he repeated, finding the term wasn't as foreign as it should have been, “I already do.”
Argentian lowered his head in an unexpectedly shy manner, as if to hide his expression, and gave a low rumble that Horatio liked to think sounded pleased.
***
Though he had only been inactive one day, Horatio woke-his second morning as a captain-with the intense need to do something.
Admiral Hirst only toyed with him briefly when Horatio came to report, drawling: “Are you sure you wouldn't like another day, Captain? You can be spared one more, I think...”
“No-Sir.” Horatio tried not to let his impatience show. “That is, I believe Argentian is as eager to resume activity as I.”
Argentian was. He greeted the news-orders to join Pellew's formation in training exercises-with a bright, “Very good, Sir.” The eager, cat-like twitch of the tip of Argentian's tail was not lost on Horatio.
“Glad you could join us,” was Pellew's simple greeting, but there was a smile in his eyes as he added, stressing the word meaningfully, “Captain.”
Pellew's dragon, Briseis, was a Regal Copper. Horatio knew her well, from his service with Pellew, and the dragon greeted him in her bright and cheerful voice. An odd match, some might think it: a crusty veteran like Pellew, and the sweet-natured, if behemoth, Briseis. Horatio, however, who had long ago seen the perfect harmony between the two, knew better. More than one green recruit had tried to hide an expression of surprise when Pellew turned from barking orders at his men to give his “Brise” a fond stroke or pat, along with a gruff word of praise.
“Ah!” Briseis said, addressing Argentian. “You are very fortunate to have gotten Horatio. You know, he was my first lieutenant before he was your captain.” Horatio recognized it for Briseis' familiar half-serious, half-teasing way.
Argentian, however, did not seem to know entirely how he should reply, and answered uncertainly, and with seriousness that contrasted with the Regal Copper's cheerfulness: “Ah... Yes. I am sorry about that.” He amended quickly, and would have surely blushed if a dragon could, “Not that I am sorry he is now my captain, of course...” As he finished, Argentian gave a subtle rear of his head, not unlike a proud stallion, and Horatio shared a look with Pellew who was observing the dragons' exchange with eyebrows raised.
“Come, now, you two'll have to finish squabbling over poor Captain Hornblower later,” Pellew interrupted in his leniently stern tone.
“I was not squabbling,” Briseis interjected. “And I am pleased to meet you Argentian. And I am glad you've been made captain, Horatio. Even if I shan't have you anymore.” With perhaps a little more seriousness than teasing, she added to Argentian, “But you had better make sure you take care of him.”
“I...will,” Argentian promised, as her and Pellew left. “A Regal Copper,” he said, half to himself. “A very impressive dragon. You must have been proud to be her first lieutenant.”
“Mmm,” Horatio agreed. “But she was not my dragon.”
***
And now I have killer headache, from formatting this, on top of nerves. :3 I'll just go make dinner now...
Index:
Chapter 2